


Help

by unwillingadventurer



Category: Colditz (1972)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwillingadventurer/pseuds/unwillingadventurer
Summary: Simon witnesses Mohn collapse in the corridor. Will he help him?
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	Help

In the dark of the room, Simon’s eyes were wide open having not slept a wink since lights out. Even Captain Brent had managed to surrender to slumber, but Simon had tossed and turned and moved erratically in his itchy blanket, trying to get comfortable but struggling under the fabric. He gave up. He sighed. It was no use, he couldn’t sleep. His mind raced with a million ways to escape, none which were realistically possible. Admitting defeat, both for the escape plans and for sleep, he climbed out of bed and walked toward the window where the light from the moon shone through the pane, lighting his way. It was a beautiful sky, full of stars— but as far away as freedom and his beloved Cathy. How a sky could look so wonderful when beneath it was a world on fire!

In the courtyard was the solitary light of a torch held by a guard on duty as he patrolled back and forth. Simon could hear the sound of heavy boots on the cobbles, always the exact same number of steps— the same rhythm, the same continuous noise. Sometimes he felt it was seeping into his brain, as though if the relief of sleep were to arrive that he’d dream of the guard, walking backwards and forwards, never resting, never changing, never stopping. 

He sat upon the ledge and peered out of the window. True enough there was the figure patrolling back and forth in the darkness with the torch that cast a beam of light around the castle. To Simon’s surprise he noticed it was no ordinary guard patrolling but the formidable Major Mohn who had probably relieved another guard from their duty. Sometimes he wondered if Mohn ever slept or whether he ruled over them at every hour, looming like a vampire, watching their every move as night fell. In the moonlight he looked even more pale and Simon found himself watching the man for several minutes, examining him as though he were an experiment in a science laboratory.

Mohn wasn’t an un-handsome man, he thought, but he wasn’t handsome either. Something about the way he was so rigid, his face so blank— it was all so awkward and unnatural. He never seemed to smile and when he did there was usually some dark intention behind it. And it was never a nice smile, more a smirk of victory, reserved to make others feel small. Simon didn’t expect them to be friends, they were still enemies, but why not civil? Other guards were civil, other guards were human but somehow Mohn felt alien, dropped in from outer space to observe them and never get close. 

Suddenly, almost as though he had read his thoughts, Mohn’s head turned sharply and then looked upwards to the window. His eyes fixed upon Simon’s and they stared at one another for several moments. Simon looked away first. He could no longer look into those demonic eyes. He instead buried his head in his knees which were now drawn up to his chest. When he finally looked again, Mohn was gone. Vanished. Disappeared as though he had turned into a vampire bat and flown away into the fog.

Next, Simon heard the same hypnotic footsteps outside the door to the room. Mohn was pacing outside the quarters now and he could hear the rhythm of the boots again. Simon tiptoed to the door and opened it just a crack, peering carefully through to where he could see Mohn leaning against the corridor wall for support, out of breath and wincing in pain. He continued to watch for a few moments as Mohn clutched his side and was bent-double in agony.

Simon froze. No one else was awake. Mohn was struggling to stand. And when he could stand no longer, he collapsed to the stone floor with a quiet moan. From the ground, he tried to move but thrashed about in pain, like a tiny animal caught in a trap, refusing to call for help as though it might make him appear weak. Simon said nothing then, did nothing, but watched. There was some poetic justice at the sight of the Major upon the floor, unable to move and at the mercy of others. He had relished in Simon’s injury, should he now relish in his?

But what was wrong with Mohn? Was his war wound to blame? Was it a virus? Did Simon even care? Did he help him? No one would ever know he saw Mohn collapse. He could go back to bed and leave him there to slowly fade away. Would Colditz be rid of him then? 

As Mohn whimpered quietly, Simon sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn him,” he whispered as he opened the door and stepped out into the hall, closing the door silently behind him with a creak. Upon the floor, Mohn’s torch was still lit as it lay beside him. He was unable to reach it but as Simon stepped toward him, Mohn looked up, seeing the face of Flight Lieutenant Simon Carter staring down at him. 

“Mr. Carter?” his voice trailed off, unable to speak much through the pain.

“Do you need help, Major?” Simon made sure he emphasised the word ‘help’.

“No,” Mohn whispered, “leave me alone. Go back to bed, I can…make it…to the door…”

“Not if you want to get to a quack before you die. How do you expect to get out, slither out like a worm?”

Simon touched the Major’s arm but he was shaken off violently. 

“I said leave me!” Mohn’s eyes watered.

“Look, I don’t want to do this anymore than you do, but you have two choices. I either help you and we raise the alarm or I leave you to rot.”

“And you will help me, Mr. Carter?”

“You’re making a mess of the hallway.”

With a sneer, Mohn allowed Simon to help him into a sitting position. He then also allowed him to place his hat back upon his head. Simon was very gentle.

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” Simon said, crouching down beside him and looking him over.

Mohn clutched his stomach. “Nothing is wrong with me. It is merely twinges.”

“Twinges often make you collapse like that do they?”

“It’s nothing to concern you with. Why are you awake anyway at this hour?”

Simon sniffed. “Free country, isn’t it? Well for some.” He picked up the torch and shone it into Mohn’s eyes like he was interrogating him. “Bit bloodshot. You might have moments to live.”

“Then I shall die in your company, Mr. Carter.”

“I don’t know if that’s more frightening for you or for me.” 

Mohn blinked rapidly and pushed the torch away with his shaking hand. “I shall report this behaviour to the Kommandant.”

“Won’t he wonder what you were doing here? What were you doing here wandering outside our bedrooms in the dead of night? Bit strange, isn’t it, Major? Are you a peeping Tom?”

“A peeping Tom?”

“Yeah. Someone who gets his kicks out of spying through keyholes as people get undressed, that sort of thing.”

Mohn’s lip quivered and he tried to move, the pain still surging through his side. Simon grabbed Mohn’s arm and carefully helped him to his feet, placing his arm around his shoulder so he was taking the full weight. Mohn looked down at the ground, biting his lip with irritation. He couldn’t bear it— Simon thought— to be weak, to be helped, to be vulnerable, to be assisted by his enemy. It was torture for him, worse torment than the injury itself. 

“I’m quite alright now,” Mohn said as he stood to his normal height. “A momentary lapse of health.”

“So, you’re not going to die after all?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

Simon clung onto Mohn, wondering whether he would be able to stand unaided.

“You can let go of me now, Mr. Carter.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Simon followed his command and rather abruptly let go of him, causing the injured man to shake momentarily, trying to steady himself against the wall. He was still in pain, that was obvious to Simon. Mohn’s face was tight, his lips pursed, his eyes narrow and his fists clenched. He looked as though he was doing everything to conceal his weakness but Simon could see through the act.

“Fine, I’ll just wait and do nothing shall I?” Simon folded his arms and casually rested his leg upon the wall. “Or I could help you. We can get this over with and then I can go back to bed and try and get some kip before dawn.”

“I’m not your puppet, Mr. Carter.”

“No? I thought I was yours.”

“Just help me then. Anything to stop you talking. You British never say what you mean. Always talking about nothing, always trying to be polite. Get to the point, Mr. Carter.”

“And doesn’t it scare you?”

“What?”

“All those hidden meanings, all the secrets. No wonder you can’t sleep.”

Simon realised he was torturing Mohn again. Granted there was some satisfaction in taunting him, but he didn’t feel quite right about it when his enemy was not to his usual fitness. He wasn’t like Mohn, didn’t wish to be, so he held his breath and gritted his teeth. He grabbed Mohn’s arm again and thrust it behind his shoulder, dragging the man along the corridor. 

“We can raise the alarm now,” Simon said, reaching the outside and signalling to another guard on patrol. “They can deal with you from here.”

“Very well.” Mohn looked away from Simon, still in his arms. “You better get your…beauty sleep then, Mr. Carter, you’ll need it.”

Simon smirked, nearly laughed, but stopped himself.

Mohn would go on to live another day. And Simon tiptoed back to his bed, lying down on the bottom bunk and sighing deeply. At the sound of his sigh, George Brent woke up and leaned over the side of the bunk, yawning.

“I must have gone right out. You alright Simon?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I heard you get back into bed.”

Simon turned around. “Just a visit to the gents, nothing important, George,” he snapped with irritation.

“Sorry I asked.”


End file.
